


Shelter From the Storm

by Lucyemers



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode: s04e04 Falling Darkness, Episode: s05e04 The Gift of Promise, Hurt/Comfort, Lewis Summer Challenge 2018, Multi, ot3 endgame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 09:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15749214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucyemers/pseuds/Lucyemers
Summary: "She feels something inside her releasing. She’s been with them through so, so many of all three of their most difficult days. And then the day she flew away from them both was the day she feared that she might be losing both of them forever."





	1. Laura and Robbie

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2018 Summer Challenge on the Lewis Challenge Dreamwidth 
> 
> Many thanks to Greenapricot for last minute beta reading and Linguini for last minute Britpicking!

She had never been to his house before. There had been the occasional Christmas party but for some reason or other she’d always been unable to attend. Fortunately their new superintendent hadn’t thought it strange when Laura asked for Robbie’s address. She was sure she hadn’t been the first one to want to do something. 

Robbie Lewis was always very well liked around the station. There were some who had their feathers ruffled by his former DI although she suspected that jealousy ruled their dislike. Morse was one of the best detectives the station had ever seen and, though the naysayers may have tried, it was difficult to detangle his success with Lewis’s. Morse may have been one of their finest detectives, but Robbie Lewis had been one of his finest sergeants.

After Morse had gone she’d seen something of what grief did to Lewis. In that case it had meant withdrawal and a harsh almost militaristic reporting to whichever inspector he was assigned to in the interim. Nothing of his usual joviality. She used to listen to him theorize at murder scenes while she was packing up her equipment, even before her postmortem results, to be met by what she soon learned was proud encouragement from Morse often masquerading as skeptical half interest. When she happened to chance upon him after Morse had died he kept his head down, and with an air of professional disinterest offered to follow up with whatever theory his D.I. was espousing. She sometimes wonders, a bit bitterly, if that’s what lead to so quick a promotion--all the inspectors with their nose in the air opinions of themselves liked how much he’d agreed with them. She thinks this, but then she remembers that Morse knew Jim Strange well, and would have had his ear even to the end.

But this grief was different. How could it not be? Decades of marriage and two children? She literally can’t imagine--she has the thought with both a pang of relief and longing as she sets the covered over Shepard's pie in her passenger seat. It’s the coldest night of the year, she thinks, and not even technically winter yet. It’s getting darker much earlier in the evening, so as she makes her way, heavily bundled, up Lewis’s front steps, it feels as if she’s bringing the cold into a place of warmth and light. But as soon as she’s inside there’s no warmth and very little light.

He opens the door, grudgingly it seems, with a whisky in hand. His eyes are glassy so for a moment he just stares at her in the darkness before recognition floats in.

“Ah. Laura.”

***

She doesn’t have to be a doctor to tell that he’s in very bad shape, but her diagnosis is as simple as acute grief triggering an excess of drink. He’s putting up a considerable effort toward making her a cup of tea while she sits, perched on the sofa, surrounded by now drooping flowers from sympathetic friends on all end tables, a few shedding their petals sadly. Beside her is a hastily shed suit jacket that she’s nearly sure has been there since this past Saturday. Well...she rather doubts that she’d be able to go about hanging up clothes and putting them away after a funeral such as that. The suit jacket is accompanied by a nearly empty bottle of whisky, which she suspects has been Robbie’s constant companion. She feels a slight pang of guilt that she hasn’t come by sooner, but what would she have done?

There’s loud swearing from the kitchen and she goes to give what help she can in the moment.

There’s shards on the floor along with a large puddle of tea, which she thankfully notes contains milk. There’s less chance of burns if there was milk to cool things down a bit. They’re lucky it was already tea and not boiling water. But then she sees the blood on his hand.

“Bloody thing slipped right out of my hand!” he growls. It would do, yes, with all that trembling. She navigates the floor as quickly as possible and pulls him gently to the sink, takes his hand and runs it under the stream.

“Not a deep cut. Where do you keep the plasters?”

After she’s got him bandaged and out of the kitchen, with very explicit instructions not to move she cleans up the kitchen, brings his tea to the sofa, and nonchalantly moves the bottle of whisky to the kitchen. The dinner she’s brought only needs a bit of warming so she serves them both a plate and they eat, not bothering to move to the kitchen, in sad but companionable silence.

She’s just going to rise and clear the plates when there’s a hand on hers and,

“Laura...you’re so good to me, lass.”

She looks away. Not a term he’s ever used for her before.

“And I can’t even manage tea for you.”

“You don’t have to manage anything right now, Robbie. Not for me.”

His hand rested on hers for several moments longer. And though physical touch was not something she used to from him it felt all right. She took his hand and they sat for what couldn’t be more than five minutes, and when she broke away to check her watch and take the plates to the sink she wished they could have stayed that way longer. She wanted to be there for as long as she could. She thought maybe if she was holding his hand it wouldn’t be reaching for the whisky bottle.

But of course she knew she was giving herself too much credit. He’d just lost his wife, for God sake. He would have a long way to go before he might begin to be all right again, and there was very little she could do for him along the way.

She left him thanking her profusely for the supper, though not rising from the sofa, the effort almost seeming beyond him.

She spends the rest of the night desperately worrying about him. She spends the rest of the year considering making him other dinners, but she doesn’t. Three years later they finally go for a proper meal after work.


	2. Laura and James

She sees Robbie for only a minute. He tells her, very softly, that they would wait to take her statement until the morning. “James’ll drive you home. I would meself but, I’ve got to get back to the station--the paperwork on this one--” and then he stops and looks a bit upset as if seeing her in this state he has no right to be thinking about such things. But he wouldn’t be himself, she knows, if he weren’t already closing the case in his mind. It’s a particular way he has, of coping with the hardest ones, and she doesn’t fault him at all. As he is grasping her hand fondly and she is returning his soft, still slightly scared smile she only wishes that she too had some sort of well honed automatic process kicking in. But of course, she thinks wryly to herself, she’s never been almost buried alive before.

When the car starts she almost startles but then she hears James’s voice and it takes her a moment before she can catch on to what he’s saying.

“Just starting the engine. Just putting the car in reverse.” This gentle narration is very odd and she wonders if he’s learned it in some half day seminar about dealing with victims of trauma. She might almost be amused at him if she didn’t find his low consistent voice so very soothing.

Once he’s satisfied that she’s not about to panic he returns to silence but will periodically warn her of small, insignificant disturbances. “This turn may be sharp.” “There’s a hump in the road ahead.”

When they arrive at her house she’s halfway up the walk before she freezes, seeing the lights she left on shining through the shattered pane of glass in the front door. She hadn’t given any thought to how they’d gotten in but it looks as if it had been terribly easy. She’d had her music up fairly loud in the bedroom. She hadn’t heard the glass shatter, hadn’t heard much of anything until her bedroom door burst open and then turned quickly, though not quickly enough to escape the chloroform soaked flannel clamped tight over her mouth. The thought of sleeping in the same room she was taken from not an hour earlier, of crossing the threshold even, covered in glass, her oasis made dangerous even on the first step inside has her breaking out in a cold sweat.

“This house is a crime scene”, she says shakily. She’ll appeal to the copper in him, she thinks, trying to steady her voice continuing, “There’s evidence...we can’t…I can’t” _I can’t stay here_ , she finishes in her head.

He gives her a quick look that hears what she hasn’t said. “No.” He agrees. I’ll give uniform a call about the house, but you’re coming back to mine.”

The words, _“No, you don’t have to do that”_ , are on the tip of her tongue but she doesn’t say them. She can’t sleep in her own house tonight.

His flat is small, but she is given the only bedroom and bathroom. He draws her a bath, puts clean sheets on the bed and makes her a very sweet yet very strong cup of tea that she drinks, clothed in his pajamas, sitting up in bed and nearly falling asleep into it, despite thinking just a few hours ago that she might never sleep again. She briefly starts awake as she feels the teacup start to tilt, her hands relaxing their grip as she’s starting to nod off, but she finds that James has silently take the cup and is in the doorway nearly whispering, “I’m going to turn off the lights now.” She feels herself hum in soft acknowledgement before such a quiet, barely there. “Goodnight, Laura,”and he’s shutting the door.

She wakes to the sound of her own screams. How is it possible that she’s capable of it when she’s having such trouble breathing? The sheet has twisted around her legs. She can’t get free, it’s holding her down. If she can get to the edge of the bed maybe she won’t be trapped anymore, nevermind falling out. She’s just about to roll herself over the edge with as much force as she can find when she feels him catching her instead, taking her in his arms and sliding onto the edge of the bed so they are both perched, in no danger of falling. But her feet are still trapped and it doesn’t make any sense to her at all logically but she has to get them free of the sheet and duvet that are holding her down. She kicks at them and he seems to understand, leaning over and pulling them off her as best he can.

“Thank you,” she manages. Her voice is raw from screaming and he doesn’t reply, just holds her just so slightly closer, before asking,

“Would you like some water?”

“I’d rather you not go.”

And so he stays, with her in his arms for...she doesn’t know how long. But she does know that he’s ever so gently running his hand through her hair. She feels her breaths slowing. She can hear his heartbeat and that is keeping her here, in this bed, on the edge of sleep, instead of in the cold ground where she had been only a few hours earlier.

Some time later, she’s not sure how long, she feels him start to shift and settle her gently away from him into the bed. Just as he’s standing up to go, hand lingering on hers for a moment for a last touch or reassurance, that she’s here, that she’s safe, she takes it and holds it saying, again, “I’d really rather you not go, James.” Some distant part of her knows this is odd, knows that she’s safe, she doesn’t need him to stay with her through the night. But she wants it all the same. And so he stays.

In the morning he serves her a subdued but very peaceful breakfast, and she stays until the police have cleared out of her house. In her absence Robbie has already had the glass pane in the door replaced and paid to have the place cleaned.

She doesn’t find herself back in James’s flat until about a year later, when she overhears something in the lab about testing for arsenic. After calling in a favor at the clinic where she sometimes volunteers, she finds James in bed, almost dangerously dehydrated, unable to keep anything down and deftly hooks him up to an IV. She stays with him the rest of the day, just as he stayed with her that night, until she’s completely satisfied that he’s properly on the mend.


	3. Robbie and James, and Laura

When she hears the car pull into the driveway, she thinks for a minute Robbie’s returned. Though she doesn’t much know what he would have to say to her so soon after leaving in the small hours of the morning. Perhaps she shouldn’t have pushed him into saying that he never really wanted to go to New Zealand with her, the long awaited purchase of a baby gift notwithstanding. Perhaps, she thinks, her heart speeding up in a very _“I told you so”_ kind of way, she really should not have pushed him to tell her why.

But if not now then when? Robbie, for all his great skill at figuring other people out, their motives, their emotions, how they think, he’d really been all too helpless at doing the same for himself. No, perhaps at 1 a.m. in the midst of exhausted last minute packing hadn’t been the best time to pull out of him that he hadn’t actually wanted to go to New Zealand because he had been in love with James for years and he was only now admitting it to himself. And having him leave in the middle of the night to that flat that he’d stubbornly, for some reason, continued to pay rent on even after having moved in with her, was also, perhaps not the best.

But would having him come to the realization three months later while halfway across the world have been better? No, she thinks sadly, rolling her own suitcase to the front door, thinking that it’s really getting time to phone a cab.

And then she hears the car. And why would he be back so soon? _“People don’t know how you feel unless you tell them.”_ She had said that, years ago. What, had he finally taken it to heart and come back to tell her that he’s been to see James, that they are going to be ever so happy together and is she pleased with him for his _finally_ having talked it over with him? She sighs, exhausted. Bitterness does not look well on her. She take a deep breath and opens the front door.

And the sight that greets her makes her sure that Robbies had definitely not been to talk to James. Because James is parked out front of her house, standing in front of his car, holding a sign that says, “Lewis.”

She doesn’t speak for a moment and eventually he lowers the sign and calls out a tentative, “morning.”

“No Lewis, I’m afraid. Only me.” She tries to keep her voice businesslike.

James holds her gaze for a moment, inquiringly, but when she gives him nothing the moves on saying, “Need any help with your luggage?”

She declines and loads it into the boot of his car. On the drive to the airport the air in the car is heavy with what he’s not asking and what she’s not saying. She half remembers the last time he drove her somewhere in silence and almost wishes he was doing that strange narrating like before. She might find it comforting. Without thinking about it much she starts doing it in her head. _“We’re merging onto the M40.” “We’re approaching some traffic.” “We are nearing the gate.”_

He insists on walking her up to security in that oddly old fashioned chivalric way he has about him. His kindness grates on her nerves. She hates the bitterness she feels towards him. She can’t help feeling this way, of course, but neither can he help that he’s very near the reason why she feels this way.

When he goes to hug her goodbye and kisses her on the cheek, she knows she’s in danger of tears starting right then and there. Why does he have to be so kind to her? She bats at her eyes with her hands. She will not let this happen here. And even though she does manage to keep her tears at bay, James has already noticed and is trying to catch her eye.

“Laura?”

“James...please just speak with Robbie. The two of you really ought to talk.” She walks toward security and then looks back saying, almost as an afterthought, “Thank you for the ride.” She leaves him with a look of confusion and for six months she doesn’t know what’s happened with either of them. Of course she wishes them well. But the best thing for her is to be well and truly away from all of it.


	4. Laura, Robbie, and James

She’d had nothing planned for dinner, but she always does like to frequent the Farmer’s Market on a Saturday when there’s nothing else to do. She’s just eyeing a table full of chard when she starts to feel the first few drops of rain. She hasn’t brought an umbrella so she’s hoping it starts to taper off soon, but then she hears the thunder, and quick glance at the vendors beginning to pack up their goods tell her they are definitely finished for the day.

“Looks like it’s going to be a proper gale,” she hears him before she sees him. When she turns around Robbie already has the umbrella over her head. “Where’s your car?”

“I biked,” she replies a bit sheepishly.

“Let’s go get it then. I’ll send James to pick us up in the car.”

They find her bike and then James picks up the both of them. She’s rather rain splattered but feeling, she thinks to herself, oddly exhilarated just from a summer storm. There’s the harsh slap of the wiper blades, as she gets in, and she almost doesn’t hear Robbie say, “Home, James,” as he shuts the door. He’s uncharacteristically sitting in the back next to her instead of beside James.

“Do you mind dropping me off at home first?” She asks.

“We can if you’d like,” James responds, “but you could always stay for dinner too.”

She hesitates for a moment. Only because she has never joined them in their house. Their new house that belongs specifically to the two of them together. She has seen both of them often enough since she returned to Oxford. After the initial first outing for drinks which contained a very heartfelt but very brief apology on Robbie’s part there has been little awkwardness between the three of them. It would be wrong of her to say she isn’t jealous of their happiness. But she’s very happy for their happiness as well.

But dinner at their house...that seems very new.

And yet...she says yes.

When they arrive she’s given towels, though her clothes are very nearly dry by now, and a glass of wine. Neither of them offers to show her their new place, acting instead as if she’s been here a dozen times. James sets about to arranging a salad, toasting bread, mincing garlic and seasoning fish. She sits in the conservatory with Robbie watching the storm that’s now raging outside, happy to be out of it.

“Been much too long since we’ve seen you, love.” It’s not a word that he’s used for her since...well not in seven or eight months, but she doesn’t stiffen. Perhaps it’s the wine, but she suspects it’s the word, that makes her relax just a little bit more. She starts to make excuses about how she’s been busy, but instead just says, “A long time, yes. But I’m glad to be here now.”

The dinner is simple but lovely. They eat at the table in the conservatory with the windows open. They only have one lamp and a few candles and though it stays light long into the evening they’re still out there talking when the sky outside darkens. She’s just had enough wine that she’s starting to feel that welcome warmth running through her. It isn’t until James has picked up the guitar and has played the three of them into a pleasant post dinner stupor that Laura thinks to check her watch. Getting close to 11 p.m. and she’s starting to feel as if she’s overstayed her welcome.

“I should go.” She says into the contented hush that follows one of James’s songs. There’s a pause and Robbie and James share a look that she just can’t quite interpret.

“You could stay”, Robbie says, quietly and simply. And she feels like she might spend the rest of the evening here and that nothing could be better than this. And then she feels Robbie’s hand on hers. She looks at him for a moment, but his eyes give nothing away, just look back at her placidly. Then he leans his head back and closes his eyes and sighs happily, letting James’s music surround him. All the while her hand is in his and he’s stroking soft circles on her palm with his thumb. She looks to James, who is looking straight at them, smiling in that barely there kind of way that he has.

When the song is over she frees her hand from Robbie’s, but gently, and only with the intention of gathering the plates and beginning to do the dishes. As she moves to the sink she hears Robbie get up from the table behind her. When she glances back she sees him sitting next to James on the sofa, talking quietly with him.

She begins to wash but she hears someone behind her and when she turns James is standing very close, looking slightly nervous as if he’d very much like to talk with her. And now she really does think that perhaps she has stayed far too long. And is James here now to demand an explanation as to why she was sitting at his table holding hands with the man he loves? She has no explanation. She only knows that he seemed to have no problem with it five minutes earlier and that she had missed it, in all those many months, all the closeness with Robbie, she had desperately missed it.

“James...I’m sorry...I’ll go. I’ve stayed much too late--” but then his hand is smoothing her hair and...both of them...why are they doing this? This is so damn frustrating. They’re only making her want what she can’t have. He’s only ever touched her like this after that case. But long after the nightmares faded she still remembered what it felt like. And now she’s here with both of them and...she feels her face start to flush...oh she should go.

But then…”It’s alright, Laura.” He says it so softly. “It’s alright.” His hand is on her face and she’s leaning into it almost without thinking. “He meant that, about staying. We’d like you to. If you’d like.”

“For tonight?” she whispers.

“For as long as you’d like”, Robbie answers behind him. She hadn’t even heard him come in.

She feels herself sighing. She feels something inside her releasing. She’s been with them through so, so many of all three of their most difficult days. And then the day she flew away from them both was the day she feared that she might be losing both of them forever. She can’t believe this, she can’t believe that she’s finally coming home to both of them. She feels as if she’s about to cry, which is ridiculous considering just how much happiness she’s been offered.

Implausibly she starts to sputter out a laugh before saying, “I...yes...of course...I mean are you saying…?” And she can’t finish the sentence. So James take advantage of the moment and kisses her. And she’s suddenly kissing him back. She feels Robbie’s hand on hers and she wraps her fingers in his before surfacing and turning to look him in the eye.

“So we’re headed to bed, lass. Are you coming?” It’s so matter of fact, as if they do this every night. It’s so good naturedly Robbie that she can’t help but laugh again before replying to them both, saying so simply, making sure she has one of each of their hands before she says it,

“Yes.”


End file.
